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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268813">pull me under</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xephyr/pseuds/xephyr'>xephyr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>World of Warcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Developing Relationship, Emotional Constipation, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Rimming, Sexual Content, Sexual Inexperience, Sexual Repression, Slow Burn, semi-graphic descriptions of injuries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:42:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xephyr/pseuds/xephyr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's strange how a near-death experience can change everything.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shaw runs a hand through his sweat soaked fringe that sticks to his forehead, uncaring of how he smears blood through it in the process. He steps aside as the Zandalari collapses to its knees on the deck with a death rattle and moves onto the next one that advances upon him at blazing speeds. The sounds of the dying echo around him as he parries the unending blows of its axe and he grits his teeth against the sheer force of it. Flames lick the deck of the ship and Shaw is aware that he’s running out of time.</p><p>

By all accounts, this shouldn’t have happened. On an unmarked vessel with its lights snuffed out in the dead of night, they shouldn’t have been spotted by anyone, let alone a Zandalari scouting crew that boarded the ship as heavily armed as they were. It’s almost as if they had been expecting them. He ducks under the next axe swing and makes his move, making a ragged slice up the Troll’s flank. His arms shake from exhaustion as the Troll stumbles backwards, cursing as blood spilled freely from its side. “The princess would pay a pretty penny to see you in chains,” It spits at him in Zandali. “It’s a shame dat she’ll have to settle for your head instead!”</p><p>

The next blow is clumsy as the Troll lets its frustration dictate its next move and Shaw dodges it and answers with another blow of his own, shoving his dagger deep into the Zandalari’s abdomen with a force that rattles all the way into the back of his molars. “Who sent you?” He demands. A gunshot fires to his left and he feels a body thudding beside him, the tell-tale feel of a tusk digging against his boot. He doesn’t dare take his eyes from the Zandalari in front of him even as he hears Alliance soldiers yelling around him. The fact that he heard more Common than Zandali at this point was giving him hope that they might turn this ambush around. The Troll’s other axe cuts cleanly through his thigh in an unexpected slice and he doubles over with a grunt as he feels his skin separating around the blade and he takes the troll with him to the deck, now slick with blood.</p><p>

“You t’ink I would tell you dat? Give up, ‘spymaster’. Your time is running out.” The troll laughs at him, heedless of its own grievous injuries. Shaw draws his other dagger across the troll's throat and the laughter drops off immediately, spraying Shaw with a fresh layer of black blood.</p><p>

With effort, Shaw pulls himself onto his feet with the help of a railing and hisses through his teeth at the pain that shoots through his leg as he puts even the barest hint of his weight on it. Rivulets of his own blood stream down from his thigh and while he doesn’t think he nicked an artery, it still doesn’t look good. With his attention finally taken from the last Zandalari he can finally see the damage done to the ship and to the crew.</p><p>

As expected, many Alliance bodies cover the deck, 7th Legion and Kul Tiran alike, but many and more still fought for their lives. With only a few Zandalari still alive they might very well win the fight but the damage was already done. The ones that weren’t fighting were wrestling with the rescue rafts and piling the injured aboard them and Shaw’s head felt hazy as he watched them, his grip on the railing slowly but surely losing its strength. The princess may get her wish, after all.</p><p>

“Master Shaw!” A voice called out as hands grabbed his arm and he felt himself being led across the deck by a 7th Legion soldier whose name he can’t immediately place. He lets himself lean against it as he makes a final scan of the vessel that was falling apart, sails lighting up the night sky with the flames that engulfed them. His eyes caught, then, on a familiar form on its side.</p><p>

Captain Fairwind. Still breathing.</p><p>

He shakes himself from the soldier’s hold on him, ignoring the sounds of protest. He hobbles over to Fairwind’s body and turns him onto his back and it’s here that he can see the blood running down a sizable gash in his forehead. The captain is too heavy for him to lift but he’s still alive and the soldier that had been escorting Shaw is at his side in a second, following his lead and likewise trying to bring the captain to his feet.</p><p>

Then, the flames spread past them faster than he can process and an explosion goes off and Shaw knows nothing.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div>Gentle waves lap at his prone body and he ignores it for as long as he can until his eyes flutter open, staring up at the moon in a cloudy sky that he had been looking at for what seemed like a lifetime ago. Rocks feel like they’re embedded in his shoulder blades and once he regains enough awareness he pushes himself up partly onto his elbows and curses through his teeth when he inadvertently pulls the muscles in his thigh with the movement. He looks first at his mangled leg and then off to the side where he sees a pair of boots and further up to Captain Fairwind.<p>

This time, however, he’s not breathing.</p><p>

Shaw moves without having to think twice about it, dragging his body along the rocky shore to put his mouth on the captain’s, pressing his nostrils together and breathing into him until finally Fairwind sputters to life below him, gasping in lungfuls of air and coughing in turn, yanking away from Shaw to turn onto his knees and spit up water and stomach acid into the shore. As Fairwind’s retching echoes through the night air, Shaw looks to each end of the shore that he can see to ascertain if anyone else had been carried to shore with them. A chill runs through him that’s unrelated to how he’s soaked through to the bone as he realizes that it’s only them.</p><p>

After an eternity, Fairwind finally flips onto his back as far away from the contents of his stomach as he can possibly get and closes his eyes again. Shaw shakes him by the shoulder. “Stay awake, captain.”</p><p>

“Five more minutes, Cyrus,” Fairwind mumbles in a slur, resolutely not opening his eyes. Shaw shakes him more forcefully this time until the other man looks up at him wildly, one pupil dilated and the other shrunk to a pinprick. Shaw swears under his breath.</p><p>

“You’re concussed,” He says even though the captain isn’t truly listening to him. “If you fall asleep now you won’t wake up again.” A fresh wave of pain throbs in his thigh and he screws his eyes shut with a grimace. Out here on the shore they’re vulnerable and until he can figure out what happened and what to do, they need to get to some form of shelter. When he’s able to open his eyes again he spots what looks to be the mouth of a cave tucked against a cliff face with various foliage and moss hanging over its entrance. It’s not the best option, he knows, but it’s all they have.</p><p>

It’s not too far off but without being able to get onto his feet it may as well be miles away. Shaw pulls a knife from his boot and cuts the fabric of his pant leg off in a jagged line below his knee, holding his knife between his teeth as he wraps it around his thigh just above the wound and ties it tight as a makeshift tourniquet to stop as much of the blood loss as he can. With that, he shakes Fairwind by the shoulder again.</p><p>

“Get us over there,” he tells him, pointing towards the direction of the cave. “Do you hear me?” He asks the other man as he sees him nodding off with a frown. Somehow, this situation might actually be worse than Shaw had originally thought.</p><p>

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Fairwind grumbles as if Shaw’s asked him to do something terribly mundane. He tries to hoist Shaw up onto his feet but promptly loses balance and tips over on the shore, landing solidly in the dirt and rock with a thud. “Sorry, that doesn’t usually… there’s something wrong with the floor.”</p><p>

“Just get us there,” Shaw hisses with more impatience than is strictly necessary, pain and fatigue wreaking havoc on his stressed brain.</p><p>

After a long struggle they manage to work together and deposit themselves inside of the cave mostly in one piece and while it’s damp and unpleasant, Shaw doesn’t want to risk starting up a fire. A fire will do nothing other than make them painfully visible on a shore he’s not yet able to discern is safe or not and more importantly, almost, he doesn’t want either of them to be lulled to sleep by a comfortable fire. The moon gives him just enough light through the clouds to see as he props himself up against a wall and casts a weary eye towards the captain where he sits beside him with his face firmly in his hands.</p><p>

“Fairwind,” he tries.</p><p>

The other man’s shoulders shake as he raises his head from his hands to look at Shaw properly and seems to finally recognize who he’s actually looking at. “Spymaster,” he says with a note of confusion. “What are you doing here?” He looks around the cave, not quite understanding what he’s seeing. “Where are we?”</p><p>

“I don’t know,” Shaw says honestly as an answer to both questions. The captain isn’t all there just yet and probably won’t be for quite some time but the fact that he’s at least coherent is promising. “Just stay alive until I can figure this out and get us out of here.”</p><p>

In the resulting silence Shaw pulls his communicator out from one of his vest pockets and curses as he fails to activate it. It’s completely waterlogged. Gnomish inventions were genius, that much couldn’t be denied, but they hadn’t quite mastered the art of waterproofing. If Shaw gets out of this alive he might bring it up to Mekkatorque. If he doesn’t make it out of this alive, then… Well. If he doesn’t make it out of this alive, it’s no longer his problem.</p><p>

Judging by how lightheaded he feels, it may not be that much of a stretch to assume that he won’t survive this. In an attempt to salvage what he can, he uses his dagger to separate each piece of the gnomish communicator and places the parts on a rock with the hope that he might be able to dry them out in a day’s time. Fairwind is still worryingly silent as Shaw struggles to get the blade of his dagger between a particularly tight spot and Shaw speaks again. “Stay with me, captain. Tell me about your childhood.” He can feel Fairwind’s gaze fall on him and Shaw doesn’t take his eyes away from what he’s doing and instead motions for him to speak with his other hand. He figures he needs the distraction nearly as much as the captain does.</p><p>

After a few false starts Fairwind eventually tells him about his day the other week haggling a spice vendor at the Tradewinds Market and while it’s not what he asked for, he listens as intently as he can and hangs onto each accented word with as much attention as he can spare and fights with his eyelids that keep threatening to droop closed.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div>When he wakes up next, the cave is much warmer and there’s a comforting heat flickering somewhere behind him. He rolls onto his back and pushes himself up onto his elbows with an incredible amount of effort and takes in his surroundings with bleary eyes. His gaze falls to the modest fire pit that has been erected without his knowledge and he swallows down the dryness of his throat. When had he fallen asleep? How long has it been? Why is he so hot?<p>

Most alarming, however, is the absence of a certain captain. Shaw panics, then, and tries to pull himself up onto his feet by getting a firm handhold on the rocky crevices along the cave wall.</p><p>

“Hey, hey, Shaw.” A familiar voice sounds behind him at the entrance of the cave and then just as suddenly firm hands are grabbing him by his shoulders and setting him back down so he’s sitting against the wall and facing towards the fire. Fairwind is here, now, still holding him by his shoulders and looking over Shaw’s face with a furrow in his brow. “I was just getting us some breakfast. It’s fine, alright?”</p><p>

The lump on his forehead has turned a myriad of sickening colors in a spectacular bruise but otherwise, Fairwind looks much better than he did the last time he saw him. Shaw grabs him by his scruffy chin and angles his face so the light from the fire better illuminates his skin and he squints as he observes each of the captain’s pupils in turn, ignoring the man’s sputtering protest. They’re still dilated to a degree but it looks far less worrisome than it had before. Fairwind visibly swallows, the shadow of his Adam’s apple bouncing in the light of the fire and Shaw drops his hands to his side.</p><p>

“How long was I out?” He asks. His voice is rough from disuse and from that alone he can deduce it’s been quite a while.</p><p>

“A few hours, at least. Fat lot of good it seems to have done for you.” He moves back towards the entrance of the cave to retrieve the items he’d dropped in his haste to reach Shaw once he seems assured that the other man won’t try to pull himself up the cave wall. He plonks a wooden bucket next to the fire and speaks again before Shaw can even think to ask where he found it. “It’s not much, but I managed to catch a fish. It was a bit harder than I thought it would be, what with the,” He makes a vague gesture towards the lump on his head, “you know.”</p><p>

Shaw frowns as he watches Flynn take the fish out of the bucket and begin to clean the scales with a knife and a trembling hand. “Are you alright?”</p><p>

“It feels a bit like I got kicked in the head by a horse, but it’s— it could be worse. It’s manageable.” Fairwind looks over to him and gestures with his chin towards his leg. “How’s that?”</p><p>

“It’s manageable,” Shaw parrots back but as a fresh bead of sweat breaks out on his brow, he isn’t so sure he believes it. After witnessing the captain struggle with the fish for as long as he cares to, he sighs. “Give me that.”</p><p>

Fairwind apologizes uselessly as he shifts over to sit beside Shaw and hands him the fish and his knife. He’s silent as Shaw pares the scales from the flesh and the only sounds that can be heard are the steady scrapes of the knife and the gentle flickering of the fire. It’s almost comforting.</p><p>

“What did you see out there?” He asks as he works.</p><p>

“Not much,” he admits. ”I didn’t go very far because I don’t think I’d fare too well in a fight at the moment. There’s a stream farther up that I’ll hit later for some water but I figured I should have a bite to eat first.” He points over to the disassembled gnomish device Shaw has laying out on a rock. “What’s all that?”</p><p>

“My communicator. It’s how I keep in contact with the home base.” He flips the fish over and works on the other side. “It’s not working.”</p><p>

“Mm, I gathered that. Do you think, uh…” He trails off and pinches the bridge of his nose.</p><p>

“I don’t know if I can fix it,” Shaw supplies for him helpfully, picking up where he left off. “It's our best shot at the moment.”</p><p>

“And if that doesn’t work out?”</p><p>

Shaw shrugs at that and Fairwind, smart as he is, gets the hint and doesn’t question him further. The rest of the process of properly cleaning and gutting the fish proceeds without incident and the flesh sizzles on the rock slab Fairwind positions it on over the fire. It really isn’t enough for the both of them, small as it is, but it will have to do in the face of nothing else.</p><p>

“Sure you’re alright, there?” Fairwind asks as Shaw lets his head fall back against the wall and licks the remaining juices from the fish off of his thick fingers.</p><p>

“Just tired,” He replies as he lets his eyes close. He knows he’s in trouble with the level of fatigue that washes over him as suddenly as it does, but he can’t find it in himself to voice this concern to the captain. There’s nothing he can do about it, anyway. “Wake me up in an hour.”</p><p>

He’s vaguely aware of Fairwind saying something to him but in nearly record time, he’s already nodded off. He falls into a dreamless sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have maybe half of this finished so I should have the next chapter up pretty soon. sorry for any wonkiness bc as you can probably tell I do not have a beta</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun had begun to set as Flynn made his wobbly ascent towards the river he had mentioned to Shaw earlier. His sense of balance fought with him every step of the way but he trudged on with the bucket he’d found in tow. It wasn’t as if the Spymaster would be able to make this journey in his sorry state so it was really up to him to keep them both alive.</p><p>

It had well passed the hour Flynn was supposed to wake him. He’d be angry with him when Flynn eventually woke him up, he knew, but it didn’t matter at this point. Shaw had looked positively wretched before he finally allowed himself to pass out and as long as Flynn was sure he was still breathing, he would let him sleep for as long as he needed. Shaw had stayed up with him most of the night, after all, to make sure Flynn didn’t fall unconscious and more than likely die in his sleep if he did.</p><p>

For that, he was grateful beyond words. Shaw had no loyalties to him whatsoever and after the treasury heist, he had assumed he had wanted nothing to do with him at all. That was true, at least, but he was learning that just because Shaw couldn’t stand him on a personal level, he wasn’t cruel enough to let him die. After a particularly rough stumble he caught himself on a tree and allowed himself to catch his breath and fight off the wave of nausea that rolled over him.</p><p>

He doesn’t remember as much as he’d like. He’s made the same journey from the Whispering Reef to Tiragarde Sound at least a million times at this point in his life and he didn’t think twice about it when he had retired for the night, fully expecting to wake up in a few hours to greet the dawn and Boralus’ bustling harbor. That was his first mistake. </p><p>

His second mistake was engaging in a fight with a troll that towered so far over him that he had to crane his neck up painfully to even look it in the eye. He’d fended it off with his cutlass as well as he could until the troll got the upper hand and struck him in the forehead with its mace. Flynn had stepped away far enough so that it was only a glancing blow instead of having the mace crush his head like a grape which was clearly the intention but, well. It still took him out easily enough. He doesn’t know how much time had passed between that and Shaw manhandling him up to his feet. When he looked up to see the spymaster in disorienting double vision the flames of the deck spread past them both and, as he’s more or less figured out by this point, ignited the hull of Azerite. Damn flammable stuff, that.</p><p>

After the nausea had subsided to a more manageable level, he chanced a glance around his surroundings. While the island appeared deserted, fauna grown across the surface of the land undeterred and undisturbed, it felt familiar in a way he couldn’t place.</p><p>

“Come on, Flynn,” he mutters to himself as he racks his brain for any hidden nuggets of information to potentially unearth. “<i>Think</i>, damn you.”</p><p>

He stops himself cold when he sees distinctly Horde-shaped structures in the distance to the east. He flattens himself behind the towering pine tree he had been previously leaning against for support and focuses his uncooperating eyes on the building that looks suspiciously like a watchtower for any hints of movement. He counts to thirty, then sixty, then thirty again to be safe and when there’s no sign of any of any members of the Horde atop it he relaxes marginally.</p><p>

Farther away he hears the sounds of battle and as he squints to observe where it’s coming from his gaze lands upon a number of distinctly incorporeal forms engaged in battle on the shore. He blinks, and it’s gone.</p><p>

“Ah,” he says, mostly to himself. He fills his bucket in the river as unobtrusively as he can and turns on his heel to descend back towards the cave he and Shaw were currently cohabiting. While being on an island with a gaggle of ghosts was not preferable, he at least knows where they are now.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>

When he returns to the cave he has to adjust his grip on the handle of the bucket that’s nearly overflowing with fresh water and hurry to the Spymaster’s side. He’d taken a turn for the worse during the afternoon and Flynn brushes his sweaty hair from his forehead, glistening in the firelight, and curses loudly at the blazing heat he feels there.</p><p>

That nasty wound on his thigh had likely become infected. Shaw shivers under his clammy hand and Flynn pats at his cheek with his other hand in an attempt to wake him up. “You still with me?”</p><p>

It takes Shaw a worrying amount of time to finally open his eyes and when he does they’re unfocused and glassy. Flynn turns his head until Shaw’s eyes fall on his face and waits until he sees that familiar crease between his brows as he struggles to comprehend what he’s looking at.</p><p>

“Can you hear me?” Flynn asks and Shaw attempts to nod in his grip. Or, at least, that’s what he thinks he’s doing. “Good,” he says anyway. “I have water, alright? No cups or anything, so it— we’ll have to manage without.” With his own unsteady hands, he reaches down into the bucket and cups his hands in the water and brings it up to the other man’s face. It’s inelegant and inefficient besides with water leaking through his fingers but he makes do as best he can.</p><p>

Shaw’s hands grip his forearms, fingers digging into the muscle as Flynn tips his head back and presses his cupped hands against his mouth. Shaw drinks as much as he can without complaint even as nearly half of it spills down his front and once Flynn’s hands are empty he dips them back into the bucket to get him another handful.</p><p>

Once it’s done Shaw’s head falls back against the wall, panting heavily as he convulses with shiver after shiver. He hasn’t let go of Flynn’s arms yet so he has no choice but to stay there with him. “Thank you,” Shaw eventually manages through his teeth, his eyes screwed shut. “Fuck.”</p><p>

He’s still vaguely coherent, at least. Shaw’s grip on his forearms falters and his arms fall to his side as he attempts to push himself into a better position against the wall of the cave and Flynn helps him as much as the other man will allow. When he reaches out towards the bucket of fresh water Flynn places it down by his side and Shaw cups his own shaking hands inside and drinks gratefully.</p><p>

Watching the spymaster who was usually poised to perfection so wrung out and frenzied was harder to stomach than he expected. The short hair he usually kept neat to an absolutely anal degree was now a mess, sticking out at various angles from his head in the places where it wasn’t plastered to the sides of his face by sickly sweat. The water appears to give him a second wind of sorts until it peters out and he’s laying back against the wall with another full body shiver.</p><p>

“The communicator,” he gasps out after some time. He tries to say more but Flynn shushes him and situates himself in front of the disassembled device with more confidence than he feels. It doesn’t look too complex but he’s still somewhat doubtful that he’ll be able to successfully put it together. “That part is the receiver. You need to— yes, like that.”</p><p>

With Shaw’s direction he assembles the device as best as he can and flips what Shaw assures him is the power switch. Nothing happens at first but after a moment there’s a tinny beep that causes Shaw to visibly sag in relief against the wall and Flynn places the device in his outstretched hand.</p><p>

“Wyrmbane,” Shaw rasps against it and after a tense second a new voice echoes through the cave.</p><p>

“Spymaster? Where are you?” Shaw looks over to Flynn in askance and Flynn takes the device back from him.</p><p>

“This is, uh, captain Fairwind,” Flynn says into the receiver, casting a concerned glance over at the Spymaster struggling to keep his eyes open. “We’re on the west end of Crestfall, I think. We need help.”</p><p>

There’s a pause before the other man— Commander Wyrmbane, he’s gathered— speaks again. “Keep the communicator in a high place and we’ll figure out your coordinates. What’s the damage?” He asks, and Flynn assumes he’s referring to the spymaster.</p><p>

“Infection. Maybe poison. I don’t know.”</p><p>

“Cauterize it,” Wyrmbane tells him and just the thought of it makes his mouth dry. “We’ll see you as soon as we can. Do <i>not</i> let him die, Fairwind.”</p><p>

Flynn nods until he realizes the other man can’t see him. “Aye,” he finally croaks nervously.</p><p>

The call cuts out after that and Flynn swallows down the saliva filling his mouth. Shaw’s eyes are closed but he’s still awake if his pained expression is anything to go by. It makes it more unnerving, then, when Shaw huffs out a bitter laugh. It’s the first time he’s ever heard him make a sound even remotely related to amusement.</p><p>

“This isn’t how I was expecting to die.”</p><p>

“Hey, don’t— you’re not going to die here,” he promises him as if he has any right to. ”The 7th Legion will be here soon and they’ll get us out of here, alright?”</p><p>

“Right.” He doesn’t say anything else.</p><p>

Flynn settles back down beside him and works on the knot on Shaw’s tourniquet that’s coated in gore with new resolve. He pulls out the emergency flask he keeps in his inside coat pocket and removes the stopper with his teeth. The emergencies he typically keeps it for are usually to help him pass the time, but this is more important by a long shot. In lieu of anything else he casts his coat off to the side, removing his thin shirt and cutting a strip of fabric from it to use as a rag. “Ready?” He asks as he soaks it with alcohol.</p><p>

“Just do it,” Shaw says, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation. At the first rough press of the rag he hisses and catches his lower lip between his teeth. Flynn disinfects the wound as best as he can and forces himself to ignore the sounds Shaw is making in the back of his throat and how the other man blindly grabs onto his bicep. He tries not to focus too hard on the ruined skin and discharge that seeps out lest his stomach violently protests.</p><p>

Shaw is panting by the end of it with a fresh layer of sweat glistening on his skin and Flynn balks at what he has to do next. He takes his time heating up his knife in the fire, gathering up his courage as he observes the steel changing color.</p><p>

Shaw notices his hesitation through his fog of pain. “Fairwind, please,” he tells him evenly. It’s a demand, to be sure, but his words aren’t harsh. He’s begging, almost.</p><p>

He doesn’t need to tell him that he’s never done this before. He knows the process but he had been fortunate enough to never actually have to perform it. Shaw is already shaking before he even brings the knife down and he decides not to prolong it, running the blade over the festering skin at once. Shaw bows forward with a strangled sound until his forehead is pressing into Flynn’s collarbone painfully and grips onto his arm as if his life depended on it. The whimpers that are pulled from the other man almost makes him stop once or twice but he pushes himself to finish the job as quickly as he can. He sears the flesh and scrapes off what he’s able to without it being too unmanageable and with one last hair-rising whine he’s done and he tosses the knife aside.</p><p>

Fingers hold onto his arm painfully with more than enough force to bruise as aftershocks of pain make the spymaster tremble against him. His head is still pressed against him and Flynn lets him stay there for as long as he needs until his breathing begins to even out and his iron-tight grip on his forearm slackens. Flynn checks his pulse under his jaw with a frown and is relieved to feel it still hammering away, though it’s faint. There’s nothing they can do now except wait so he does his best not to disturb the spymaster in his unconscious state.</p><p>

All they have to do is wait.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>

He doesn’t know how many hours pass until Commander Wyrmbane finds them and he’s woken up from his restless slumber with Shaw still partly hanging onto him. Two soldiers flank Shaw on either side and hoist him up with his arms slung over their shoulders and Flynn feels a sharp pang of concern as his unconscious form is dragged from the cave.</p><p>

“Not the best job at cauterizing, but it will do,” a deep voice rumbles as its owner observes Shaw’s thigh in the fading daylight before gesturing for the 7th Legion soldiers to continue on and bring him aboard the small vessel they had sailed out in to retrieve them. Piercing blue eyes lock, then, onto Flynn’s. “I want details, captain. Come.”</p><p>

Flynn stumbles onto his feet with a struggle and Wyrmbane is at his side to catch him before he falls headfirst to the ground. The other man’s lips quirk downwards in annoyance as he presses a hand to his forehead almost painfully until warmth courses through him from the point of contact and his pounding headache nearly dissipates. Right, paladins.</p><p>

“Thanks,” he says, pressing the pads of his fingers against the phantom pressure behind his eyes. He doubts he’ll ever get used to that.</p><p>

The commander waves him off and Flynn follows behind him on newly steady feet up the gangplank and onto the ship. By the time he gets on board Shaw is already gone, likely being looked over by healers in the cabin. </p><p>

“Will he be alright?”</p><p>

“It’s too early to say,” the man answers honestly with a shrug of his heavy plate-clad shoulders, apparently seeing no reason to give him any sense of false hope. “The Light will either save him or it won’t. Either way, we’ll do what we can.”</p><p>

Flynn has nothing to say to that and instead leans heavily against a railing, eyes focused on nothing in particular but the stretch of the sea against the horizon.</p><p>

“I need you to tell me what happened.” Wyrmbane says as he similarly leans on the railing beside him.</p><p>

Flynn starts from the beginning and tells him everything he can remember.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>

Life goes back to normal after they return to port, except for the fact that Flynn hasn’t seen Shaw at his post for over a week now. He stops by the promenade several times a day to look out onto the deck of the <i>Redemption</i> only to find the spot Shaw usually occupies strangely empty. He stops himself after the third time and asks himself why he’s so caught up in this. Up until this point he’s convinced himself that he’s simply worried over causing the Alliance to lose their spymaster, but it’s more than that. Shaw was a good man, if not needlessly enigmatic.</p><p>

Even Taelia notices how odd he’s acting, but that’s not much of a stretch. Taelia notices everything. “You said he was hurt pretty bad, yeah?” His best friend asks one day over a brunch that should by all accounts be cheerful but he can’t shake the heavy feeling settled over his limbs and he simply swirls his ale around in his mug. “It’s only been a week. If anything happened I’m sure we would have heard about it from Cyrus by now.”</p><p>

“I know,” he sighs, rolling his teeth over his bottom lip apprehensively. “I just feel… I don’t know, Tae. I feel guilty.”</p><p>

“It wasn’t your fault.”</p><p>

“It was, though!” He argues. “If he hadn’t come back for me he would have gotten off the ship before it—“</p><p>

“And you would be dead and we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” She tells him matter-of-factly. “He saved your life and you saved his. It’s no one's fault and you’re both even now, got it? I don’t want you to say things like that, Flynn.”</p><p>

She puts her hand in his and holds it reassuringly. He automatically returns the gesture and runs his thumb in gentle circles along the back of her small but strong hand and offers her a weak smile. “Sorry, I know. Can we just, ah…”</p><p>

“I’ll tell you about my day instead if you want.” She offers. You wouldn’t believe what happened to Lieutenant Tarenfold today.”</p><p>

“Try me,” He smiles in the face of a welcome distraction.</p><p>

Taelia smiles cheekily. “One of the Irontide’s parrots was wreaking havoc after its rider fell and flew right over the Daelin’s Gate and over the hill. Guess what landed all over him and his fancy gun.”</p><p>

“No,” He says, disbelieving.</p><p>

“Yes!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The feeling of the cool night breeze passing through his hair and over his skin was a welcome reprieve from his time spent in recovery; stuck in an unfamiliar bed with nothing but stagnant air to cool him down on sweaty nights. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like.</p><p>

His first task upon returning was, of course, to file reports on the testimonies given by the various survivors from the late night Zandalari attack weeks ago. Word had been suspiciously sparse on when he was to return to the field but he knew if he brought it up he would likely get an answer he wasn’t happy with. For that alone, he didn’t ask.</p><p>

The general consensus he had reached with other officers is that there was— or at least had been a Horde spy in their midst. Multiple accounts corroborated this, though he couldn’t get a straight answer from anyone no matter how much he subtly strong armed the survivors into giving him any information. Whoever the spy was was long gone.</p><p>

It didn’t help, perhaps, that there was only a small handful of the original crew that had even survived the Azerite explosion.</p><p>

He couldn’t shake how wrong it felt to be walking across the length harbor at this time of night with only the barest echo of an ache in his leg. He’d been on the receiving end of the Light’s healing properties before but this was a wound he was fully expecting would get the better of him. Without Captain Fairwind to intervene when it festered, he had no doubt in his mind that it would have.</p><p>

Shaw still had mixed feelings about those hours or days he had spent fluttering in and out of consciousness. There was a particular guilt and shame that ran through his bones at the memory of it all, of how he had greedily drunk down over half of the water reserves the other man had spent the better half of the day gathering without sparing it a second thought. Remembering how he had clung to the other man’s bare chest biting back tears as he performed the necessary steps of cauterizing his wound wasn’t a particularly proud moment for him either.</p><p>

Pain had a way of breaking through your barriers and making you act in a way you normally never would. Even as acutely aware of this as he was, he was embarrassed. He hadn’t been particularly nice to the man while he was concussed.</p><p>

Having the captain up in his personal space for the majority of that time came with its own unforeseen complications. He hadn’t considered himself to be touch-starved in any sense of the word, more than content to keep an arm’s length away from everyone at all times, but having Fairwind’s hands on him for extended periods had him more bothered than he was altogether expecting. So much so that when he was alone on the cot on the voyage back to Boralus after the healers had worked the Light into his ruined thigh he took himself in hand for the first time in months.</p><p>

He was handsome, he had to admit to himself. Annoying and loud but broad and square-jawed and too pretty for his own good. That, and Shaw was woefully out of practice. It makes sense that he would latch onto it no matter how inappropriate the situation was. It was <i>frustrating</i>, to put it mildly, that his baser instincts could still get the better of him.</p><p>

It’s a good thing, maybe, that he hasn’t seen him since.</p><p>

“Oi, spymaster!”</p><p>

Shaw centers himself with a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily and releasing it all in a drawn-out sigh. One of these days, he thinks, things might actually work out the way they’re supposed to. Once he wills himself to turn towards the source of the voice he almost regrets it when he’s met with the wide grin that spreads across the other man’s face as he catches up to him. In one of his hands he holds a bag that is almost overflowing with loaves of bread, far too much for anyone to possibly eat before they become stale and hard, and Shaw catches himself just before he thinks to ask about it. Some things are better left a mystery.</p><p>

“Captain Fairwind,” he starts under the guise of being diplomatic. He had wanted to do this over written correspondence to remove the human aspect of this exchange entirely but it appeared the stars were not on his side tonight. “I never did have the chance to thank you for your aid.”</p><p>

Fairwind waves him off in a way that distinctly annoys him but aside from a twitch in his jaw he’s not quick enough to control, he doesn’t put a voice to it.</p><p>

“Are you alright?” Fairwind asks him instead, gesturing to his thigh and then to everywhere else when he presumably notices that his uniform no longer hangs onto him as tightly as it had before. Again, this annoys him.</p><p>

“I’m fine,” he dismisses with a frown. He’s aware that the Grand Admiral is expecting him soon and realizes that he has no time to dawdle but he still feels like he has things to clear up with the other man that can’t be done in thirty seconds or less and comes to a practical solution. “I have somewhere to be. Can you meet me at the Octopus half past ten?”</p><p>

It’s presumptuous of him to think that the captain doesn’t have better things to do than wait up for him at such a late hour but Fairwind doesn’t even hesitate as he nods at him. “Yeah, of course. I’ve got things to sort out anyway,” he says as he points towards the bag of bread in his opposite hand as if that explains everything. “I’ll save you a seat.”</p><p>

There’s the barest flutter of anticipation in his chest as he offers a cursory nod in return and without another word he spins on his heel and leaves.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>

Shaw is exhausted by the time he leaves Proudmoore Keep much later than he had originally anticipated and almost makes a beeline for his cabin aboard the <i>Wind’s Redemption</i> before he remembers his prior engagement with Fairwind at the Curious Octopus. He doubts that the other man would still be there but he figures he should still check just in case. As he weaves through the streets of Mariner’s Row and into the tavern his thigh throbs and he mentally scolds himself for pushing himself so hard on his second day back on his feet. Apparently, even the Light could only do so much.</p><p>

Sure enough, tucked away in one of the corner tables sits captain Fairwind, sans bag of bread, nursing a drink from a mug. His coat hangs on the back of his chair and he sits there, illuminated by light from the fireplace, in a cotton shirt that does nothing to disguise how wide and thick his shoulders are. He’s smiling as he chats with one of the bartenders and pauses in his anecdote when he sees Shaw hovering by the entrance of the tavern and turns that overly friendly smile over to Shaw this time as he waves for him to join him.</p><p>

He takes a seat across from the other man and hides his discomfort from lowering himself to a seat as best he can as he settles down and Fairwind motions for the bartender to top him off and to bring Shaw a mug. When the Kul Tiran man plops the mug of ale down on the table it splashes over the rim with how overfull it is.</p><p>

“It’s not strong,” Fairwind assures him as he eyes it dubiously. “I’ve had two and it’s barely touched me.”</p><p>

He glances around the tavern guiltily, noting how there were hardly any patrons left at this late hour. At least, not many who were still conscious. The fire was down to its last embers and despite the bartender’s good cheer, the beginnings of impatience were obvious to Shaw. “I apologize for being so late. You didn’t have to wait.”</p><p>

Fairwind shrugs and takes a healthy sip of his freshly topped off ale. “And if I didn't, who knows when I would have ever seen you again.”</p><p>

Shaw doesn’t have an answer for that. Instead, he asks, “How’s your head?”</p><p>

“It’s as good as it’ll ever be, I suppose. Don’t look at me like that, I’m kidding. I’m fine.” He tilts his head and looks at Shaw a bit too intently for his liking. “You, though. You look pretty beat. Are you sure you’re alright?”</p><p>

Shaw closes his eyes and sighs, reeling in his sudden irritation. “Just tired,” he says with a distinct feeling of déjà vu. “I spent too much time on my feet today.” They spend a minute or two in a comfortable silence teetering the very edge of awkwardness until Shaw drums his fingers along the surface of the table and finally decides to get it over with. “I meant it when I thanked you at the harbor. I would be dead if you hadn’t stepped in.”</p><p>

Now it’s Fairwind’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Look, let’s not get into all that. You helped me and I helped you. I mean, it’s—” Fairwind scratches at his cheek and sighs in frustration. “It’s not a big deal, okay? Anyone would have done the same thing in my position.”</p><p>

Shaw’s brows raise into his hairline sometime during his spiel. “That’s a very roundabout way of saying ‘you’re welcome.’”</p><p>

The other man barks out a nervous laugh as he looks anywhere but at him. He opens his mouth to speak and then snaps it shut. Shaw gives him a moment and he opens his mouth again. “I feel responsible for it all.”</p><p>

His blood runs cold in his veins for a terrifying second. Was Fairwind implying…? “How so?” He asks as calmly as he can muster. Of all the potential suspects he had lined up in his head for leaking intel, the captain wasn’t among them.</p><p>

“You came back for me,” He goes on to explain. “I remember that much, at least. If you had just gone like you were supposed to then you might not have been caught in whatever happened to the ship.”</p><p>

Shaw lets out a long sigh both in relief at being wrong in his assumption and also in annoyance at what Fairwind appeared to be taking the blame for. “Do you actually believe that?”</p><p>

“You were halfway into a raft when you turned around!” Incredibly, Fairwind sounded <i>angry</i> with him. “Healers could have properly tended to you instead of the piss-poor job I did if you had just—”</p><p>

“No one within a fifteen foot radius of the ship survived. You do know that, right?” Shaw asks him conspiratorially as if there was any way the captain would have possibly known that. “If I had gotten in that raft then we would both be dead. I don’t know how or why we were able to survive the blast but we <i>did</i>. So, I’ll ask you again. Do you actually believe that you were at fault?”</p><p>

It’s not an altogether delicate way of breaking that particular news but Fairwind’s misplaced guilt <i>bothers</i> him for reasons he can’t adequately describe. While he’s stunned into silence, Shaw grabs gold pieces from his pocket to pay his portion of the bill and presses them against the table to rise to his feet, fully set on leaving. The muscle in his recently healed thigh, having other plans, chooses that moment to seize under him and he lowers himself back into the chair with a grimace. Fairwind is at his side in a second, offering an unobtrusive hand on his arm.</p><p>

There’s no way he’s going to walk back to the Redemption like this, he knows. Not without considerable assistance, at least, and he doesn’t want that sort of attention right now. The hour is late enough that he might be able to chance it, but the knowledge that the Alliance’s spymaster is more or less indisposed is not something he wants getting out. He makes his inevitable decision and turns halfway towards the bartender, gesturing at him until he’s at their table. “Are there any rooms open for the night?”</p><p>

The bartender, while generous with his store of drink, appears much stingier here. It’s much easier to wheedle drunk patrons out of their coin, he supposes, and he knows he must paint quite a picture stumbling around like he’s had too much to drink. It’s a solid business plan, if not more than a little slimy. “I’d have to check but I’ll be honest, it doesn’t look—”</p><p>

“Fifty gold.” Shaw offers simply.</p><p>

“Yeah, I think I can get something sorted out for you two. Let me show you the way.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div><p>

Fairwind helps him up to the shabby inn room and sits him down on the edge of the mattress that will supposedly give him a fifty gold night’s worth of sleep. Fairwind lingers around the edge of the room awkwardly, clearly unsure of what he’s supposed to do. Shaw watches him fiddle with the drawers in the dresser through his peripheral vision as he removes his boots and the outermost layers of his armor and he has to suppress a laugh. It wasn’t how he saw this night going, either. He doesn’t blame the captain for being as confused as he is.</p><p>

“You good? Alright, I’ll just, uh…” He points behind him with this thumb towards the door. When he turns and gets his hand on the doorknob, however, Shaw stops him.</p><p>

“It’s late and I already paid fifty gold for this room,” He explains lamely, painfully aware of the adolescent way his heart hammers in his chest. “Stay.”</p><p>

Fairwind swivels halfway around to look at him with furrowed brows, trying to work out the nature of Shaw’s offer. And, if he’s honest, Shaw’s not sure he understands it entirely himself. The other man worries at his bottom lip for a moment as he takes in the sight of Shaw laid up against a pillow (a <i>single</i> pillow, mind you) and after some internalized deliberation that Shaw can practically witness occurring in his head, he shrugs.</p><p>

“Alright.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’d hardly slept at all that night, charged with a nervous energy that didn’t abate even when the other man had fallen asleep against him. He didn’t know what he was agreeing to originally, but he doesn’t think it was to watch him sleep. Still, as the first rays of dawn highlight Shaw’s red hair and the faint grey beginning to form in his temples, he has to admit it’s not the worst thing he’s ever had to endure.</p><p>

He wants Shaw to <i>tell</i> him what to do because he feels lost. Shaw had seemed more than willing for Flynn to figure it out on his own, offering him nothing in way of explanation. He was subtle, that way. Charming in its own way but infuriating nonetheless. He doesn’t know when exactly he began to find his elusive nature charming.</p><p>

Shaw stirs in his sleep until he blinks his eyes open halfway and focuses on Flynn who, damn him, has been openly staring for the better part of the past five minutes. He wants to say something hopelessly cliche along the lines of ‘good morning’ and the like but something in Shaws expression stops him. Shaw’s head falls back against the pillow as he regards him in silence, his fringe falling across his forehead in a distracting way that makes Flynn’s fingers itch to brush it back like he had done in the cave until Shaw growls in frustration. “For Light’s <i>sake</i>, Fairwind.” And then he’s grabbing him roughly by the sides of his face and pressing his mouth to his.</p><p>

It’s slightly off-center and clumsy, noses bumping against each other and it takes Flynn a moment to realize he’s being <i>kissed</i>. It takes him too long, in fact, and he almost doesn’t move fast enough to stop Shaw from pulling away in defeat. He holds a sharp cheekbone in place with his palm as he shifts into him and kisses him properly before he can fully consider the ramifications of what they’re doing but then Shaw makes a choked off sound in the back of his throat and suddenly it doesn’t matter.</p><p>

No matter how cold and hard Shaw likes to parade himself around as, it does nothing to disguise how warm and soft he actually is in his arms. The other man moves confidently once the initial shock wears off and shifts his hands away from the sides of Flynn’s face, down his neck and across his shoulders before sliding up to get a firm grip in his hair.</p><p>

Shaw adjusts until he’s pressed flush against his chest and then freezes in his tracks when Flynn’s hips knock into his own and his morning wood makes itself known against his thigh.</p><p>

“Sorry,” Flynn apologizes against his mouth as the pause draws out awkwardly. “I— I wake up like this.” The kissing didn’t exactly help on that front either, he doesn’t say.</p><p>

Just when Flynn thinks he’s crossed a line he wasn’t aware of, Shaw kisses him again. He keeps it light and sweet and Flynn takes the hint, keeping his hands above his waist as he follows his lead.</p><p>

Eventually, Shaw pulls back completely with a sigh and props himself up onto an elbow to look at him. The morning light illuminates the spectacular flush that covers his cheeks and his chest rises and falls with shallow breaths under his shirt. </p><p>

He looks incredible.</p><p>

“I have to go,” Shaw says, shattering the mood with four simple words.</p><p>

Flynn’s heart sinks in his chest just to hear it. “Did I…?”</p><p>

Shaw shakes his head and runs a hand over his face, sighing again before he sits up properly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just can’t stay.”</p><p>

Flynn doesn’t have a response lined up as he follows suit and sits up in the bed, watching Shaw swing his feet over the edge and wince slightly before pulling on his boots. “Alright,” he says instead, just for something to say. Shaw is fully dressed before Flynn can even get his socks on and he hovers near the doorknob, toying with the handle in uncharacteristic nervousness as he looks back at Flynn on the bed. He can see him working up to something.</p><p>

“Thank you,” Shaw settles on eventually. “For… everything.” He looks as if he wants to say something else but he leaves it at that, offering a final shrug of his shoulders before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.</p><p>

And of course, he still has a boner. He falls back onto the bed with a frustrated groan and after taking a moment to decide he undoes the catches of his pants and takes care of it.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>——</p>
</div><p>

At first, Flynn is respectful and gives the other man his space. After about a week of that he gets bored and decides to change things up a little bit and play coy, finding any excuse and even making up a few of his own to hang around the deck of the Redemption. ‘The Harbormaster wanted me to swing by and pick up those reports on the damage done to the hull last month’ was a good one. ‘Just checking to see if the sails are rigged right’ was another good one, though a bit more blatant with the added step of taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves to better display his arms as he tugged on various knots in the ropes.</p><p>

Once he got to flimsier excuses such as ‘Cyrus wanted me to see what kind of coffee you lot prefer’ and ‘I don’t think that soap you’re using to swab the decks is within protocol’, Shaw began to get suspicious. Or, knowing him, he had been suspicious the whole time and was only just now calling him out of it.</p><p>

That was the case today as he waved Flynn on board with a tight smile and down into cabins. When he closed the door behind them he slowly turned to level flynn with a long-suffering grimace. “Is this really necessary, captain?”</p><p>

“No idea what you’re talking about, mate.” Flynn shrugs, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe beside him.</p><p>

“In the future I would suggest that you read up on what ‘subtlety’ and all of its related synonyms actually mean.” Shaw presses his fingers against his eyelids and sighs before moving on to massage his temples. “We both know why you’re here so please, drop the pretense already and just get it over with.”</p><p>

Flynn’s eyebrows raise into his hairline of their own accord. “If I had known you were such a romantic I might have even brought you some flowers.”</p><p>

“Funny,” Shaw deadpans. He moves backwards until he’s sitting on the edge of his table and taps his fingers against his thigh once, twice, and then a third time before he speaks again. “I may as well lay all of my cards out on the table here. First of all, I acted impulsively and for that, I apologize. Second—“</p><p>

“Impulsively my arse. You planned that entire—“</p><p>

“<i>Second</i>,” Shaw continues, undeterred, “You don’t have to invent excuses to bother the crew just so we can talk. We’re both, I presume, adults.” He pauses for a moment and when he looks back at Flynn it’s with a pained expression. “You don’t <i>actually</i> think I planned any of that, do you?”</p><p>

Again, Flynn shrugs. “I mean, that whole thing with your leg hurting again out of the blue was pretty convenient.” He can see Shaw gearing up to gut him on the spot and he waves it off because this isn’t the <i>point</i> he’s trying to make. “Also, it’s actually pretty difficult to get an opportunity to talk to you. You’re pretty good at hiding away when you don’t want to be found.”</p><p>

At that, Shaw’s shoulders deflate somewhat. “I wasn’t hiding,” he argues, unwilling to cede any ground, “I’ve been busy.” He motions towards the stacks of papers lining his desk to further illustrate his point and while Flynn believes him to a point, he has suspicions that he isn’t telling the entire truth.</p><p>

“All you have to do is tell me to cool off and I’ll do it,” he offers, enunciating every syllable as carefully as he can to ensure that Shaw actually <i>gets</i> it. “Just tell me you have no interest in taking this any further and I will very gladly leave you alone.”</p><p>

Shaw dials up his hard-to-get act even further and studies the wood grain of the floor with a conflicted look before finally letting out an elongated sigh through his teeth.</p><p>

“Ask me that again in a week,” Shaw says eventually. Flynn tries not to openly gape at him. “I’m still trying to work it out.”</p><p>

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting at all. The idea of Shaw sitting at his desk and thinking about his <i>feelings</i> was almost comical to imagine but it also made his heart flutter unexpectedly in his chest. “Do you actually want me to come back later, or…?”</p><p>

Shaw nods and finally deigns to look at him. It’s funny, almost, how that ridiculous moustache has somehow transformed into something unspeakably desirable to him in such a short amount of time. He looks nervous and while Flynn doesn’t want him to feel so uncomfortable that he can’t voice his concerns, it does add a significant boost to his self-esteem.</p><p>

“Can I kiss you?” Flynn finds himself asking. “Might help you decide faster if you,” he taps his bottom lip in case Shaw is more of a visual learner, “you know.”</p><p>

“No,” Shaw answers without hesitation. “No,” he says again, almost to himself. “Give me time, please. I promise I’ll have some sort of answer for you soon.” He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the palm of his hand as if this conversation was causing him some sort of physical pain. “If you don’t mind, however, I would really rather prefer it if you were not here by the time I open my eyes again.”</p><p>

Flynn snorts out a laugh and grins at him, uncaring that he can’t see it in his melodramatic state. “Aye aye, spymaster.” He jostles the door open and decides to be a little cheeky, stepping in place on the floor and then tip-toeing by the end of it to give off the impression that he’s already halfway across the deck.</p><p>

“I know you’re still there,” Shaw drawls from behind his hand and Flynn laughs again before he actually leaves.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>——</p>
</div><p>

It’s late in the night as he scrawls out the ledgers on the most recent expedition they’ve carried out, mentally adding up the numbers and scribbling on a scrap piece of parchment when the visualizations don’t easily come to him. He’d probably be better off with some sort of assistant to do this side of things but he pushes himself to finish this nonsense so he can finally sleep for the night. Running numbers isn’t the worst thing he has to do for this job but it ranks up there for sure.</p><p>

He loses his train of thought when he hears a knock on his door and sighs, frowning down at his half-finished work and stands to receive whatever menace has come to bother him at this hour. It’s more than likely one of those pretty boys from Auric’s Angels who have come by to pester him with their demands for better gear and shinier weapons that Flynn has told them at least a hundred times that he has no control over. He’d offered the prissy high elf with ridiculous blue hair a shirt once just to see what he’d say and was unsurprised when he seemed almost offended. They never outlined any of this in the contract he’d signed when taking up this job.</p><p>

When he opens the door, however, he’s met with someone else entirely.</p><p>

“Captain,” Shaw says, official and professional with a slight downturn of his lips that lends itself towards the implication that he’s not actually all that pleased to see him. That’s not an entirely fair observation, he knows. Shaw always looks like that. “I hope I’m not intruding on anything.”</p><p>

Flynn steps aside for him to enter, eyeing him quizzically all the while. “Not really,” he says in response. Cyrus had demanded that he get these reports out to him by the morning but, well, he might have to wait. “Is there something you want?”</p><p>

Shaw steps inside his cabin, squares his shoulders, and lets out his breath in a sigh. “Yes,” he says eventually as he crosses over to his desk and picks up one of the quills Flynn has scattered across its surface, turning it in his hands as if it's the most interesting thing in the world before speaking again. “I believe there is.” He turns back halfway towards him and gives him a sidelong glance. “Something I want, I mean.”</p><p>

“Smooth,” Flynn smiles at him lopsidedly as he counts off the days in his head. Had it already been a week? Judging by the spymaster’s sudden appearance, it must have been.</p><p>

“If you’ve changed your mind about any of this, I won’t be angry with you,” Shaw says after the silence draws out somewhat uncomfortably.</p><p>

Flynn scoffs. “Fat chance of that. Just, uh,” he starts as he joins Shaw by his desk, noting how stiff his shoulders are from this angle. “Really?”</p><p>

“I don’t know how much clearer I can possibly make this. Yes, really.”</p><p>

He puts his hands on the tops of Shaw’s shoulders and to his credit, he doesn’t immediately shake his hands off. Flynn turns him until he’s facing him and works his thumbs in gentle circles along the juncture of his neck, unsurprised by how tense and knotted the muscle is. He’ll have to work on that. “Relax, Shaw. I’m not gonna turn you away.”</p><p>

Shaw could very easily say something sarcastic in return but he doesn’t and instead he simply watches Flynn with a crease between his brows. For that, he decides to generously reward him (and himself, he supposes) by leaning in and planting a kiss to his lips. Shaw is quick to follow along.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh honestly, Flynn. I saw this coming from a mile away.”</p><p>

It’s not the reaction he expects to get from Taelia upon spilling the details of his recent involvement with the spymaster and he sputters in affront as he reels in the line of his fishing pole. He yanks the hook free from the newest boot he’s fished up, groaning as he does. If he wanted he could probably set up a stand on the side of the road right now and sell the damned things. With the silver he might be able to secure, he could even buy some fish.</p><p>

“Alright, I'll bite. How?” He asks when Taelia doesn’t rush to elaborate.</p><p>

“You have a type. He has that silver-fox thing going on that you’ve always gone stupid over.”</p><p>

“Come off it. Since when?”</p><p>

Taelia kicks her bare feet through the water of the lake as he casts his line again, grinning wickedly at him in that way she always does when she knows she’s right. Which is, to say, most of the time. A solid seventy-five percent, at least. “Who was the last man you chased that was under forty?”</p><p>

Flynn throws an indignant glare her way before rolling his eyes up towards the cloudy skies and digs through his most recent memories, determined to prove her wrong. Failing that, he thinks harder. He decides not to count the one night stands in honor of fairness and after a few minutes of contemplation he finally lands on a name.</p><p>

“Peter was thirty-eight,” he says with a smug ‘<i>ha</i>’ added to the end of it for good measure.</p><p>

“And you were twenty-one,” she says simply as if it explained everything. With a snort, she shrugs her shoulders at him. “Ok, fine, I guess there were one or two under forty that I forgot. Just admit you have a type.”</p><p>

He thinks about the beginnings of grey he’d spotted in Shaw’s hairline that morning at the Octopus. He thought about the man before Shaw who had talked to him about his <i>grandkids</i> and the one before that who offered to bring him to his house on the mainland that he’d bought out during the Second War. In fact, Shaw might even have been one of the younger ones.</p><p>

“Tides, I do, don’t I?” His shoulders slump forward in a fantastic sigh but then tenses them anew when his line becomes taut and the fishing pole jerks his arms forward. He adjusts his grip and works on reeling it in. With the way the line becomes taut and loose in turns and often unexpectedly, he’s confident that it’s not another piece of footwear. After a minor struggle Flynn yanks it from the water and is pleasantly surprised to actually see a real live perch attached to the end of his hook. He holds it up and beams over at Taelia who claps for him good naturedly.</p><p>

“You should make a meal out of that for the two of you,” Taelia tells him as he tosses it into a bucket of ice that’s more or less melted at this point. “Bring some wine with you too.”</p><p>

“Oh, he’d hate that.”</p><p>

“He likes you, doesn’t he? He’ll love it!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div><p>

“I hate it,” Shaw tells him.</p><p>

“Come <i>on</i>,” Flynn groans into his glass. “Really?”</p><p>

Shaw shrugs languidly, the corner of his moustache quirked upwards in the barest suggestion of a smile. “I don’t care for fish.”</p><p>

They’d been here for hours at this point, drinking and eating and talking most of the evening away in Shaw’s cabin aboard the Redemption. Or, at least, Flynn had done most of it. Shaw mostly listened as he sipped from his wine glass in that annoyingly proper way that he does. It made Flynn feel half a brute around him as he licked the leftover spices of the fish from his fingers but it wasn’t enough to actually stop him.</p><p>

As the night wore on the lines on Shaw’s face softened and the set of his shoulders was almost that of a normal person’s. The wine had likely done most of the work on that front but Flynn liked to think that it had at least something to do with his spectacular company.</p><p>

“You weren’t complaining the last time I brought you fish,” Flynn pointed out.</p><p>

Shaw’s good cheer sombers after that and Flynn immediately regrets it. “Yes, well,” he trails off with a sigh before picking up again. “The circumstances were markedly different.”</p><p>

Flynn leans his cheek against his knuckles as he observes the lines of Shaw’s face in the lamp light. He traces his eyes along his sharp cheekbones to his equally sharp jawline and then back up to the piercing green of his eyes. Everything about the man was <i>sharp</i>. To see him putting away his sharp edges for once appearing before Flynn as unguarded as he was did something to him. Shaw arches a refined brow at him as the silence grows between them and Flynn simply smiles in return.</p><p>

“Say, are you busy for the rest of the night?” Flynn asks, noting the way demeanor shifts almost imperceptibly into something unreadable.</p><p>

“Were you suggesting something?” He responds coolly. Flynn rises from his seat and crosses over to Shaw’s side of the desk and offers his arm in way of an answer. Shaw eyes it suspiciously before taking it and allowing Flynn to lead him towards the neat little bed in the corner of his cabin.</p><p>

In an uncharacteristic move, Shaw nearly stumbles. He pulls Flynn down by the wrist and he tumbles down with him onto the sheets.</p><p>

“Are you drunk?” Flynn asks, his eyebrows raised as far up his forehead as they can possibly go.</p><p>

Shaw shakes his head and falls back against the pillows, closing his eyes. “No,” He says. “I’ve had a little more than I usually do, but I’m fine. I’m here.”</p><p>

“We don’t have to— I mean, if you have to get yourself drunk in order to do this—”</p><p>

“If you couldn’t tell by now, Fairwind, I have <i>issues</i> in this particular area.” He trails his fingers up Flynn’s arm and settles on his bicep, petting it reassuringly with his eyes still closed. There’s a flush spread across his cheeks that has nothing to do with the alcohol and Shaw opens his mouth to speak, sighs, licks his lips and continues. “I want to do this,” he assures him. “I just needed something to take the edge off.”</p><p>

Flynn stays silent as he processes the new information. Suddenly, Shaw bailing on him that morning in the inn makes a lot more sense to him.</p><p>

“You’re sure?”</p><p>

Shaw lets out a frustrated sigh and opens his eyes to glare up at him. “If you keep asking me that I’m going to change my mind. I just have a few personal hang-ups regarding the whole process. It’s nothing serious.” He shifts the hand on his bicep up to his shoulder and tugs and Flynn goes down willingly, baring his weight on his forearms above him. “Just <i>kiss</i> me already.”</p><p>

This time goes much smoother than their first kiss had now that both parties were fully expecting it. Flynn kisses him gently at first until Shaw pulls him closer to turn it into something more feral, growling as he does, and Flynn, good man that he is, readily obliges. It doesn’t take long until Shaw is sighing into it, fingers flexing against Flynn’s scalp from where he’s tangled them in his hair. He tugs Flynn by his hair, then, and it forces a deep groan from his chest and a sharp spike of arousal to shoot between his legs.</p><p>

Though he doesn’t want to move too fast, Shaw apparently has other ideas. A hand presses at the small of his back and urges him down so they’re plastered together and this time Shaw doesn’t shy away at the half-hard bulge straining in Flynn’s pants against his thigh. He can’t help but notice that Shaw is completely soft. He doesn’t get a chance to bring it up when Shaw snakes the hand on his back around to pass over his hips and then further still to squeeze Flynn confidently through the thick fabric of his trousers.</p><p>

Shaw falters only for half a second before he palms the length trapped against his thigh and works his hand underneath Flynn’s waistband to draw him out into the cool night air. He pulls back from Flynn’s lips, then, to frown down at the leaking head smearing the beginnings of a mess on the front of his shirt.</p><p>

“Sorry,” Flynn chuckles nervously, licking a stripe of saliva onto his fingers and moving it between them to wipe away what he can. </p><p>

Shaw pushes away from him and just as Flynn worries that he’s ruined things he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it off the side of the bed. The fact that he didn’t even bother to fold it or make sure it landed gracefully with his other clothes made his mouth dry unexpectedly. Shaw is looking at him intently through his lashes while Flynn is distracted by the bare skin presented to him with a constellation of barely-there freckles dusting his chest and down into his defined abs. Various scars span across his midsection, some fresher than others, and Flynn bites his lip as he imagines the new one that likely marred his thigh.</p><p>

Once Shaw has decided that he’s had enough of his staring he moves back into his personal space to kiss him languidly and Flynn closes his eyes with a moan as his fist circles the head of his cock. The friction is too much at first even with the beads of pre that Shaw smooths into his shaft and he eventually brings his palm up to his mouth and spits into it before returning his newly slick hand to Flynn’s very reactive dick.</p><p>

“Too much?” Shaw asks as Flynn writhes in his grip on the sheets. His pace is brisk enough that it hardly gives him time to breathe.</p><p>

“Not too much, just, ah—“ He tries. “A bit fast.”</p><p>

Shaw slows his hand to a snail’s pace and huffs in amusement. “It’s easier to just say yes.”</p><p>

Things stay silent after that as Shaw watches Flynn’s dick twitch and strain against his palm, the only sounds that can be heard being the wet sounds of skin on skin and Flynn’s quickened breathing. Wanting to return the favor in some way (and maybe as a treat for himself) he runs his hands over Shaw’s broad chest, thumbs catching on his nipples before dipping down to his navel.</p><p>

Unsurprisingly, almost, Shaw stops him. “It’s fine,” he says with his free hand circling around his wrist that was edging towards the hem of his pants. “Just let me take care of you.”</p><p>

One step a time, he tells himself. He could feel Shaw against his thigh and while he was no longer soft, he still wasn’t anywhere near as hard as Flynn would like him to be. Next time, maybe, Shaw would let him go down on him and take his time with his lips and tongue and let Flynn show him how good he could make this for him. He can imagine the soft whimpers that he might be able to pull from his throat as he takes the head into his mouth and sucks and not stopping until he has his cock completely buried in his throat. The image of Shaw, red-faced and sweaty and angelic as he grips the sheets with trembling fists is enough to get him there and with Shaw’s fingers gently squeezing just under the head of his dick he lets out his breath in a long shuddering sigh as he spills in Shaw’s hand.</p><p>

Shaw wipes his hand off on his pants and sighs. “That was awful.”</p><p>

Once Flynn can find his voice again, he frowns at him. “What? No, it wasn’t. It was fine. You were great.”</p><p>

Shaw raises a sharp brow at him in a tired challenge. “Don’t patronize me, Fairwind. I’m very aware of my shortcomings.” He rises from the bed before Flynn can stop him and crosses the room to his bathroom and tosses him a rag that lands, inert, on his chest. Flynn wipes his now sensitive dick clean and stays silent until Shaw reaches down for his shirt.</p><p>

“Where do you think you’re going?” Flynn demands as he sits up against the headboard.</p><p>

Confused, Shaw gestures uselessly at the door. “Out.” </p><p>

Flynn gives him the most unimpressed look he can muster. “With that?” He asks, pointing with his chin towards the jut of the other man’s groin.</p><p>

Shaw rolls his eyes but even with his carefully curated nonchalance, Flynn can still see the flush that creeps up his neck. “I’ll take care of it.”</p><p>

“Can <i>I</i> take care of it?” Flynn asks hopefully. Shaw sighs again and his shoulders droop a fraction of an inch as he visibly deliberates with himself. Alright, he’s not there yet. He won’t push him. Instead, he asks, “Can I watch you take care of it?”</p><p>

“I wasn’t aware this was a spectator sport,” Shaw huffs out a nervous laugh as he smooths his hand over his moustache and something in Flynn’s head clicks in understanding.</p><p>

“Have you ever done this before?” He asks before he can think twice about it. Shaw bites the inside of his cheek and through the resulting silence he realizes he’s hit the nail squarely on the head.</p><p>

“Once,” Shaw admits after a while, so quietly that Flynn almost doesn’t hear him. “Many, many years ago.” When he can bring himself to meet Flynn’s gaze again, he looks tired. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”</p><p>

He <i>gets</i> it, now. The pieces fall together and Shaw’s anxieties finally make sense to him. As a man who prides himself on knowing everything about anything, he can only imagine the misplaced shame he must feel over not having this particular set of skills in his arsenal. Flynn pats the empty spot in the bed next to him until Shaw finally relents and gets the hint and sits back down on the edge of the mattress. Flynn half crawls over the bed until he’s sitting next to him, swinging his feet out to rest against the floor.</p><p>

“You could have told me. I would’ve been… I don’t know.” Flynn scratches at the stubble on his cheek. “More courteous, I guess.”</p><p>

He’s not surprised when Shaw rolls his eyes in response. “I’m not fragile, Fairwind. You don’t need to be delicate with me.”</p><p>

“Flynn,” he says. “My name is Flynn.”</p><p>

Shaw rolls his shoulders and lets his breath out in a long sigh. “Flynn,” he repeats. He doesn’t say anything else. Shaw doesn’t offer his name, so Flynn doesn’t try it. “Well,” Shaw says after some time, planting his palms on his thighs and pushing himself to his feet. “This has all been very eye-opening but if you don’t mind, I would prefer to retire for the evening.”</p><p>

“Wait,” Flynn says, pulling him back down by the wrist. “One last thing.”</p><p>

When he kisses him this time, there’s no rush. There’s no intent and they don't use it as a stepping stone for anything else. Flynn trails his fingers along the sharp line of Shaw’s jaw, feather-light as he coaxes him into it, and Shaw sighs inaudibly against his lips as he kisses him back. Eventually Shaw’s hand finds his sternum and pushes back off of him to regard him curiously, green eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Then, with a parting look, he rises to his feet once more and he’s gone.</p><p>

Ten seconds later, as expected, Shaw walks back in with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is my room.”</p><p>

Flynn laughs giddily as he extricates himself from the bed and tugs his boots on, slinging his coat back over his shoulders and giving Shaw one last peck as he leaves the cabin and closes the door behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I swear I barely knew the guy,” the man protests. “We worked night shifts at the quarry on the weekends and I overheard him once or twice when he went on his rants.”</p><p>

“From what we were able to glean, you two were neighbors for the past two decades.”</p><p>

“Yeah, but besides that I hardly knew him.”</p><p>

Shaw exchanges a look with Lady Katherine who was present across the room before turning his attention back to the Kul Tiran sailor. He turns on his heel and continues his slow pace towards the other end of the room, heels clicking against the wooden flooring in a purposefully unnerving way that makes most of the men and women he interrogates sweat. It doesn’t fail him now and the man who sits at the podium practically glistens in the cool morning air.</p><p>

It had been a maddeningly slow process, but they finally had a lead on who was behind the Zandalari ambush nearly a month ago. The culprit, from what information they had gathered, was a disgruntled Kul Tiran sailor by the name of Hughes. Enraged by Alliance activity in his one peaceful homeland and the several footholds that had been erected along the sweeping valleys and hills of Kul Tiras, he had apparently decided to take matters into his own hands. The final straw, apparently, was the damage done to his family’s farm just outside of Millstone Hamlet in Stormsong Valley by a reckless Alliance caravan of drunken 7th Legion footmen during the night. If he had brought his grievances to any of the high ranking Alliance officers stationed in Kul Tiras Shaw is positive that he would have been given compensation for the damage done and even would have men sent down to help him and his family rebuild. Of course, that’s not what happened.</p><p>

As the man was missing, they only had his childhood friend to go off of. So far, he was being difficult.</p><p>

Shaw, however, was a very patient man.</p><p>

“He spoke loudly and often of his plans to conspire with the Zandalari?” Shaw asks as he reaches the end of his circuit, turning on his heel once more. “Strange, then, that it was never reported.”</p><p>

The quarry worker sputtered. “No one thought he would actually do anything about it! I bet your lot badmouths the king and your monarchy all the time back in the mainland and you don’t think twice about it!”</p><p>

There are murmurs in the small audience of survivors from the expedition gathered there and if Shaw deigned to look at them, he’s sure he’d see a few of them with their palms to their foreheads. </p><p>

It takes the man a terribly long time to realize he’s said something foolish. “I mean— you know what I mean. The guy had a wife and three daughters that my kids would play with all the time and there was never any— He just had a pint every once in a while and vented and I listened.”</p><p>

“Yet you hardly knew him.”</p><p>

“Right.”</p><p>

Shaw exchanges another look with Lady Katherine and she nods at the guards stationed on either side of the room to fit the man’s wrists with shackles behind his back, loudly protesting the entire time as they do. Shaw would give the man a week in solitary confinement under Proudmoore Keep before giving him another interrogation, but this time it would be in private. He had no doubts that before long the man would give him the information they required on exactly how many of their shipment schedules had been sold to the Zandalari.</p><p>

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, my lady,” Shaw tells her as he approaches her after the man has been dragged away. “Know that this doesn’t reflect badly on your people.”</p><p>

“It does, though, doesn’t it?” She shakes her head and sighs, letting her shoulders drop only a fraction of an inch before quickly rolling them back and adopting her noble posture once more. “No matter what you do, there will always be someone who will feel as though they were wronged. It’s simply the nature of things.”</p><p>

“It is,” he agrees, hands clasped together at the small of his back as they watch the audience clear out from the room one by one. By the door, however, one of them lingers, picking at his fingernails idly as he keeps the door propped open with his considerable bulk. Shaw sighs inwardly and turns to Lady Katherine once more to offer a respectful bow. “By your leave, my lady.”</p><p>

Flynn Fairwind at least has the good grace to wait until they’ve crossed clear through the harbor towards the Redemption and finally descending into Shaw’s office before accosting him. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are when you’re like this?”</p><p>

He might need to have a talk with him soon about impropriety. He adds it to his mental to-do list. “When I’m what? Annoyed?”</p><p>

Flynn dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “When you were up there tearing that guy a new one, I mean. You have that whole dangerous and professional thing going for you.”</p><p>

“I’d like to hope that’s always the case,” he says off-handedly as he sits at his desk, already perusing the newest one that had appeared during his absence. “It doesn’t take much to get you going, does it?”</p><p>

Where he expects to hear a smart reply he’s instead met with silence. When he looks up at him quizzically Flynn is leaning against his desk and eyeing him openly in contemplation, looking very much like he has a question on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>

Oh, hells.</p><p>

“Speaking of, I've got a question for you,” Flynn says predictably. Shaw fights the urge to roll his eyes. “What can I do to get <i>you</i> going?”</p><p>

He really should have known this conversation was coming. In the perfect world he’d created in his head it wouldn’t have come up at all. Unfortunately, as he lived in the real world, he was aware that he had to answer him. After a moment he breathes in and then out through his teeth and perhaps because of his hesitation, Flynn continues.</p><p>

“I just want to know if I should keep trying or if you’d rather skip over that whole part of it. If it doesn’t <i>work</i> for you then I’m not going to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”</p><p>

“You couldn’t have picked a more appropriate time for this?” He asks tiredly, rubbing at his eyes and fighting down the heat of embarrassment that threatens to burn the tips of his ears. After their last unsatisfying evening where Shaw had made an utter fool of himself he’d kept their interactions to a minimum, indulging the man with a kiss here and there but pointedly not letting him stay the night. In fairness, he supposes, he should come clean about this. Flynn didn’t deserve to be left in the dark. He takes a steadying breath before releasing it in a frustrated sigh and forges on. “Alright, fine. While it’s not <i>impossible</i> for me, it simply takes me longer to actually get there. It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just a bit more involved.” Afterwards, he squints back up at Flynn in a pained expression. “Just to be clear, we <i>are</i> talking about what I <i>think </i>we're talking about, correct?”</p><p>

A small chuckle escapes Flynn’s parted lips and Shaw bristles before he realizes that he’s not laughing at him. “Yeah, that’s what I meant,” He crosses over to Shaw’s side of the desk but stays a respectable distance away, resting his palm flat on a stack of documents and leaning against it. For once, Shaw lets it slide. “Would you be willing to let me try, at least? I think I could clear an evening for you.”</p><p>

“Are you sure you want to get involved in this?” Shaw asks him dubiously, mostly to distract himself from the juvenile way his heart jumps in his chest. “I can’t promise that you’ll enjoy yourself.”</p><p>

“Trust me,” Flynn assures him as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before him. Shaw can’t help the heat he feels crawling past the high collar of his shirt as Flynn’s hands come up to lightly pet at the tops of his thighs. “There’s nothing I want to do more than make you completely fall apart. I don’t care how many hours I have to spend to do it.”</p><p>

Shaw grabs his wrists when he feels his hands sliding up and towards the inseam of his leathers and for once, he has nothing to say. He’s saved the trouble of having to come up with any sort of response when he hears a knock at his door and without even having to shoot a warning glare the captain is already on his feet. Shaw composes himself as best he can to receive his guest— likely Jes-Tereth to discuss upcoming plans to better and more seamlessly mobilize his agents in Vol’dun. He bids her permission to enter and Flynn bows deeply and unnecessarily as he makes to leave.</p><p>

“Captain Fairwind,” Shaw finds himself calling out before Flynn clears the doorway. “I will reconvene with you tomorrow at seven. Please, be <i>punctual</i>.”</p><p>

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and then up to his eye sockets before he’s forced to contend with whatever expression the other man is making at him right now. Flynn, for his part, hesitates only for half a second. “When am I not?”</p><p>

Jes-Tereth closes the door behind her as he leaves and takes a seat across from him. “Is he bothering you?” She asks curiously.</p><p>

“Yes and no,” He responds honestly, sighing inwardly as he forces himself to remove his face from his hand and get to the task at hand. “Now, about the sethrak…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The breath is knocked out of him as Flynn pins him to the wall of his cabin in the Middenwake and Shaw has to breathe in a sharp intake of air before he fists his hand in his hair and kisses him back as best he knows how.</p>
<p>

It’s— exhilarating. He gasps into the other man’s mouth at an unexpected bite to his lips and grabs him by the belt to pull him flush against him.</p><p>


Flynn hums low in his chest in fond delight. “Did you bring something for me tonight?”</p><p>


“Be quiet.” Flynn, never one to listen, is anything but as he sighs and groans into his mouth. He brackets his arms around Shaw to effectively trap him between the solid mass of his body and the unrelenting wall and Shaw’s dick twitches partly to life in his leathers.</p><p>

“I promise I’ll never ask you for anything again if you let me suck you off right now,” Flynn breathes against his lips. Shaw angles things until he’s nipping and kissing along the line of his jaw partly because he wants to and also because he doesn’t want to see the smug satisfaction on the other man’s face at how overheated his cheeks feel right now. </p><p>

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” he says. When Flynn doesn’t move he clarifies. “Ok, alright.”</p><p>

Instead of moving to the bed like he thought they might, Flynn drops to his knees right there in front of him and he can’t help the wild eyed look he shoots him in response. The self-satisfied grin he didn’t want to see makes its appearance now as Flynn waggles his eyebrows at him suggestively and attacks the laces at the front of his leathers before he remembers himself, perhaps, and pauses. “Is this ok?” He asks and Shaw has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes in barely contained annoyance.</p><p>

Being treated like a delicate artifact and handled with protective gloves was not something he found himself enjoying. He should feel grateful that Flynn thought to check on him in the first place but instead it just needled at his insecurities. He could handle himself in every other situation without being coddled so why was this any different? Instead of voicing any of this, he forces a breath through his teeth. “It’s fine.”</p><p>

Flynn raises his eyebrows at him but thankfully doesn’t comment on Shaw’s most recent face journey any further than that. Without wasting any more time he pulls the laces free and draws him fully out of his smallclothes and licks his lips in anticipation at the dick that’s starting to show the beginnings of interest that’s presented to him. Shaw doesn’t think he’s done anything to warrant the seemingly exaggerated response Flynn is giving him as he eyes his dick in wonder and awe and his breath catches in his throat as he wraps his large fingers around the base.</p><p>

“Beautiful,” Flynn says and before Shaw can tell him off about it he moves in closer and runs his tongue along the underside of his head and closes his lips around him. Shaw isn’t prepared for how it completely punches the breath from his lungs and his hands scrabble along the wall until they settle on Flynn’s shoulders. Flynn is having none of that, apparently, and uses the hand that’s not wrapped around his cock to guide Shaw’s hand up to grip his hair.</p><p>

It takes hardly any time at all to turn him into a trembling mess against the wall and if he still had his wits about him, he might remember to be embarrassed. As good as Flynn’s tongue feels on the underside of his shaft, he knows that this alone won’t get him there. “Flynn,” he hisses instead, and he hopes it’s enough to serve as a suggestion to move on.</p><p>

Flynn’s mouth pops off of his cock in an obscenely loud sound and the sight of the thin line of saliva connecting the head to his reddened lips makes his cock jerk hard in Flynn’s hand. After he gathers himself back from the edge of the precipice and the blood roaring in his ears settles down to a less alarming level, Flynn grins at him and gestures over to the bed with his chin. “Clothes off, spymaster.”</p><p>

Flynn rises to his feet and pulls his shirt over his head and Shaw hesitates only for a second before following suit. This is what he wanted, after all. He pushes aside the apprehension, frustrated with himself, before removing his pants as well and settling back on the bed. Flynn is completely bare as he hovers over Shaw and in that same moment he’s kissing him down into the pillows and hooking his knee over his thigh. Flynn’s massive length drags against his own and Shaw finds himself bucking into it uselessly in an attempt to get more friction.</p><p>

“I promise I’ll never ask you for anything again if you consider letting me make you cum.”</p><p>

Shaw huffs out a broken laugh against his lips. “You said that already.”</p><p>

“Well, you know,” Flynn shrugs, grinning down at him brilliantly and not explaining himself any further than that. “I just want to make this good for you.”</p><p>

He falls back against the pillows and looks up at Flynn through his lashes, darting his eyes from his face and down his impossibly broad chest before landing on the heavy dick hanging between Flynn’s legs and swallowing down the lump in his throat as he does. </p><p>

“You’ll be the death of me, Fairwind,” Shaw mutters, shaking his head. He reaches down and grips Flynn by the leaking head and grins at the way the other man gasps. “But you’re welcome to try.”</p><p>

Flynn scrambles off of him and digs through the pockets of his discarded pants some distance away and when he returns he has a thin glass vial in his hand with clear viscous liquid swirling within. This part, at least, he remembers.</p><p>

However, it had been a long time.</p><p>

“Expecting this, were you?” Shaw asks with a raise of his brow. Flynn has the decency to look marginally sheepish.</p><p>

“Hoping, more like. I don’t think you have any idea what you look like.” </p><p>

“No, I suppose I don’t.” Shaw tilts his head until his cheek rests against his shoulder as he watches the other man coat one of his thick fingers with a portion of the vial’s contents and frowns as some of it drips onto the sheets. It makes more sense to him in that moment as to why he doesn’t often do this. Imagining how thoroughly he’ll have to wash the bedding in the morning isn’t exactly appealing.</p><p>

He focuses instead on how Flynn crawls atop him and pats the inside of his thigh and Shaw gets the hint, letting his legs fall on either side to give the other man more space between his legs. </p><p>

Flynn pauses, then, raking his eyes up and down Shaw’s body hungrily and settling on his cock, half hard against his abdomen. He brings his hand down to trace his fingers along the new scar on his thigh and Shaw’s heart twinges unexpectedly in his chest. “Actually,” Flynn starts contemplatively, “Can you get on your knees for me?”</p><p>

He complies wordlessly, unwilling to ponder on why he had changed his mind. Flynn pulls off of him and sits back on his haunches as Shaw flips himself over onto his front and positions himself accordingly, feeling red-hot heat spread over his cheekbones. It’s better like this, he thinks. At least now Flynn can’t see his face. When Flynn spreads him apart he allows himself to blush into the pillow.</p><p>

Instead of the oil-slick finger he was expecting, he feels the tickle of Flynn’s goatee and then something wet is pushing against him and forcing itself inside. A mortifying sound is pulled from him that’s only partly muffled by the pillow he’s pressed his face into as he realizes that it’s his tongue. The knowledge that Flynn Fairwind’s face is shoved so intimately against his <i>ass</i> of all things makes him blindly grasp for the sheets to simply hold on as he feels his dick swelling even more between his legs. </p><p>

Flynn spares him nothing as he pushes saliva further inside, spreading his cheeks apart with his hands as far as they’ll go as his tongue swirls and reaches every place it possibly can. Shaw controls his response to the best of his ability, determined not to make a fool of himself, but then Flynn tells him to <i>relax</i> and he lets himself go incrementally until Flynn turns him into a gasping mess. When Flynn laves his tongue down his perineum and then over his sac with reverence Shaw almost snaps at him until finally, the finger he had originally been expecting slid inside of him.</p><p>

Before he can get used to the new intrusion Flynn slides up and pushes his tongue back in alongside his finger. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way. Flynn’s free hand glides to his front and grabs his now painfully throbbing cock, fisting along his hard length wonderfully and within hardly any time at all Shaw finally feels himself on the edge. Instead of stepping back from it the way he always does he lets the sensations course through him and then finally, finally, he’s cumming hard in the other man’s fist.</p><p>

Flynn is murmuring praise against him as he does but Shaw can’t spare the brain power at the moment to process what is even being said. Flynn milks him for all he’s worth and only when Shaw buckles under him does he let up. Flynn catches him before he can fall into a puddle of his own spend and lays him down beside it on his back, taking himself in his fist with a curse and arching beautifully against his front before he’s releasing his seed over his fingers and onto Shaw’s stomach. Afterwards he rolls beside him and they both lay there for a long while, simply catching their breath.</p><p>

“Did you like that, then?”</p><p>

Shaw shoves at him weakly and Flynn laughs breathlessly in return. He wants to say something sarcastic in return but he can barely will himself to even open his eyes.</p><p>

Flynn, perhaps similarly expecting some sort of banter in response eventually shifts onto his side to presumably look at him. “Was that too much?” he asks with tentative concern.</p><p>

“No,” Shaw says when he’s able to, reaching out to grasp at Flynn’s arm reassuringly. “Just what I needed, I think.”</p><p>

“I’ll say.” Flynn says. “Maybe it’ll even get you to stop being such a tight-ass.”</p><p>

“Not likely.” The afterglow of his orgasm begins to ebb away and he becomes uncomfortably aware of the stickiness coating his front. He opens his eyes and frowns and then turns over to Flynn who grins widely at him before grabbing his shirt that he’d discarded over the side of the bed in his haste and handing it to Shaw who simply looks at him incredulously.</p><p>

“I have to wash it anyway,” Flynn says in way of explanation which only makes Shaw crinkle his nose further. “Look, I want to have a clean towel for when I get out of the bath and I’ve only got the one.”</p><p>

Shaw rolls his eyes in a put-upon annoyance and wipes himself down with Flynn’s shirt and tosses it over to Flynn once he’s done with it. It only does so much for him in his current disheveled state and he grimaces at the layer of sweat on his skin and slicking his hair. “Speaking of a bath, would you mind terribly if I took one?”</p><p>

Flynn wipes his hands off on his shirt before tossing it into a pile of clothes near the corner of his cabin that Shaw hopes for all that is holy is the pile of laundry he plans to do first thing in the morning. Flynn rises from the bed with a grin and offers Shaw an arm that he takes without hesitation. “Only if you don’t mind sharing.”</p><p>

Huffing in amusement, Shaw finds himself grinning back. “Alright.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As time goes on, things get better. It took Shaw a while to get used to the idea of having a warm body waiting for him in his bed at night and the first few times it happened he shooed Flynn from his quarters, frowning at him even as Flynn planted sweet kisses to his lips and did as he was told.</p>
<p>

The next few times it happened, however, he felt his resolve steadily begin to crumble piece by piece. On one such night he had returned to his cabin during an hour that was technically considered morning, the captain was fast asleep against his pillows snoring peacefully in a tangled nest of Shaw’s blankets. He deliberated with himself for a while before deciding to allow himself this one indulgence and took off his boots and slipped beside him under the sheets.</p><p>

“Y’know, I like having this side of you all to myself,” Flynn tells him one morning as cups Shaw’s face and thumbs along his cheeks in his overly sentimental way. “You’re so soft like this. It almost makes you look fifty years younger.”</p><p>

If there was one thing Shaw had come to appreciate more as time went on, it was Flynn’s ability to never let a serious moment linger for longer than it needed to, intentional or not. It would make calm mornings like this unbearable if he had to contend with any type of emotional vulnerability on top of the various aches in his joints that were always present upon waking. While he doesn’t lean into Flynn’s palm, he doesn’t pull away either and matches his gaze evenly.</p><p>

“Yet you make me feel fifty years older,” he counters easily. Then, with a furrow of his brows, “How is that?”</p><p>

“Hm?” Flynn hums distractedly as he trails his thumb down the line of his cheekbone and over his moustache. Shaw huffs in annoyance and angles his head in order to make Flynn’s hand land back on the side of his face instead of allowing him to wreak havoc on his facial hair.</p><p>

“How is it that you’ve managed to worm your way into my life like this?” He asks. “I used to not be able to stand you.”</p><p>

Flynn shrugs as best he can on his sideways position on the bed. “Well, you know what they say. The way to a man’s heart is to pester him until he goes red in the face and takes his frustrations out on you.”</p><p>

“No one says that.”</p><p>

He lets out a musical little laugh that makes Shaw subconsciously lower his walls even further. He doubted he would ever be able to tear them down completely as that was simply the nature of who he was but with Flynn’s assistance, he was able to see what lay beyond them now and then. He didn’t feel fantastic about more or less being a project that Flynn would have to continue to chip away at until he would ever be willing to give him a glimpse of his innermost self if there even was, in fact, anything inside those walls at all. Still, Flynn never complained.</p><p>

It made him feel unspeakably guilty.</p><p>

“What’s on your mind, then?” Flynn asks him once he catches wind of the shift in mood. He was perceptive, that way. Mostly, it was annoying.</p><p>

He clenches his jaw, makes up his mind, and then makes himself unclench it with a sigh. It was only fair that he gave Flynn some part of him. </p><p>

“The last time I did this,” he says at a slow controlled pace, dropping his gaze to the corner of Flynn’s mouth under his moustache, “Queen Tiffin Wrynn was still alive. It was the result of years and years of pent up feelings coming to light and for that one night, it was everything I thought I wanted.” He bites at the inside of his cheek and decides he’s unwilling to go into any more detail about Edwin than that. “Afterwards, he left.” And subsequently, the queen died. He doesn’t say that, either.</p><p>

Flynn just listens to him without a word and once he’s done, he feels like a fool. He doesn’t even know what type of response he wants from him.</p><p>

The intense silence drags out and Shaw continues just for the sake of it. “Just so you know where I’m coming from.”</p><p>

Flynn watches him for a few more heartbeats before tilting Shaw’s head up by his chin until he meets the other man’s eyes. His hair hangs loose from his head and fans out against the pillows and Shaw is struck momentarily by the sight of him laid out in his own bed so naturally as if he belonged there. </p><p>

“Well, unfortunately for you, I wasn’t really planning on going anywhere anytime soon,” Flynn says as he gently traces his thumb over his bottom lip.</p><p>

The other man’s grin proves to be contagious and Shaw experiences the almost foreign feeling of his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.</p><p>

“I was afraid of that.”</p>
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